


Stand Accused

by Joutsen



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2552633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joutsen/pseuds/Joutsen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Betraying her so-called father she could take, but betraying Ronan was never easy for Gamora. Neither was it for him. (Ronan/Gamora)</p>
<p>Caught by Ronan after her treachery, Gamora starts to understand that underneath the relentless Accuser...might still be just a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Passion

**Author's Note:**

> I had a little plot bunny hopping around about the complex nature of the relationship between Gamora and Ronan and this fic is the end result. It is a 'what if?' story, initially written as a one-shot, which then kind of exploded into a multi chapter fic. It probably could be described, most of all, a romance story with a darker tone.
> 
> Hopefully you like it! :)

There she stood, by the tall mirrors, which extended for the full length of the back wall of her quarters aboard the  _Dark Aster_. The purpose of their existence was not to provide her means to admire her beauty – she was not a woman of that kind, of such insignificant and useless desires.

Instead Gamora could spend hours practicing; embracing the darkness, silence and the solitude of the small room she had been given. She would use her own reflection to perfect her strikes, to ensure that each and every tip of her every finger was placed correctly during a hit or the angle her ankle followed the furious flow of her kick. She would maneuver amidst a wave of unseen, non-existent enemies until exhaustion burned in her muscles and set her lungs on fire. Hundreds, a thousand hours she had battled there, alone, striving for perfection and never being freed by such.

And nothing less she did expect of herself.

Her labored breath, lungs thirsting for air. The vicious beat of her heart like a lone drum inside her ribcage. Usually only those sounds accompanied her. The feeling of moistness gathering to her hairline and to her back; the thin cloth of her shirt following the shape of her body and sticking to her skin. Countless times she had sought for her utmost limits alone and finally collapsed to her knees whilst gasping for air, strangely satiated by the knowledge that she had given everything she got…but yet feeling as hollow as before the exercise.

Gamora had followed those routines of sweat and battle set by herself every day she had been aboard the flagship of Ronan the Accuser. Unless she was traversing the galaxy due to a mission the Kree had sent her to, she had used her time to practice… and to dwell in the loneliness she instinctively so heavily desired for.

But…

But there had been one deviation.

Once  _he_ had sat there, behind her, on her bed. It had been the sole occasion he had visited her quarters. The room had shrunk in size close to being almost suffocating due to the presence of the tall, armored man whose natural aura was nothing less than oppressive.

The Kree had commanded her to continue with her routines. And she had done so, feeling the gaze of the piercing eyes in her back. Two blue strikingly sharp and often so condemning blades.

In the end he had stated that he found enjoyment in watching her practice. Seeing the fire within her soul and the determination and passion she used to rain that exact same flame of pain upon her enemies.

 _Their_ enemies, he had stressed.

…Only during this one occasion had the dark, powerful voice been soft…

It likely was the closest thing to a compliment he had ever given to her. To anyone. Ronan was not a man who shared such words lightly. Or rather at all. Rarely anything not related to what Gamora had defined as his  _faith_  and sentences born of his ideology, tactics and mechanisms of battle left his lips.

\- Not towards the direction of his slaves at least.

A slave. That was how she had formulated the cruel position within her mind. She had been given as a loaned property to a man, to an anarchist, to a zealot. A lunatic. A psychopath delivering those twisted ways he deemed as justice. The man had many names and all equally damning.

And when she had laid her eyes upon the tall, blue-skinned, muscularly framed and heavily armored Kree for the first time at the bridge of the  _Aster,_ there had been no words radiating even the smallest hint of appreciation in her mind.

She had stood there with her so-called sister, Nebula, then. Together, armed and armored, two beautifully packed and deadly presents given away by the man who insisted on being called their father. The man who they both despised and feared, equally.

It had been a moment of mutual evaluation. The black-clad man, the Kree known as Ronan the Accuser, had eyed them long, scrutinized them thoroughly. Sharp dark blue eyes somewhere amidst the darkness and the black paint had followed curves of their bodies, explored every inch. Although far from being so, Gamora had felt naked under the dark, judgmental gaze and unresponsive expression.

"Your father says you are his most skilled Lieutenants," the man in black armor had stated, lips twisting.

"Let me see."

…And the Kree had lunged into a fierce attack. Taken aback by the sudden turn of events, Gamora's sharp reflexes betrayed her. The first lash of the open palm landed on her cheek and she fell down onto her knees, tasting the iron of blood in her mouth. The dark, metallic floor had felt cool, unpleasant and revolting under her fingers.

Adrenaline had flooded her system. She rolled out of the way of the next attack, seeing the black armored boot slip past her pelvis mere millimeters away, feeling the flow of air following in its wake. Gamora had backed towards the further end of the bridge, fingers bending around the hilt of her blade. Preparing for another attack, she had witnessed Ronan toss Nebula effortlessly to the floor like a marionette, which had its strings cut.

Posture tense and features twisting in disdain, fully clad in the black armor, the Kree was Death materialized.

"Take this as a lesson. Where I will send you, there is no place…no excuse for being unprepared," the Kree had growled.

The man's eyes were two dark stones inside the blackness. The black paint around his eyes, which followed his cheeks to the end of his jaw and lower lip, was a mask of fury.

"I am  _not_  impressed!"

The half a shout, half a statement had concluded the short meeting. The Kree had dismissed them with a fierce gesture hinting of frustration and disappointment in their performance. Gamora had wiped the blood from her lips with the back of her hand. Red had stained the green skin. She had offered her hand to her adopted Luphomoid sister and they had left the bridge, mentally and physically beaten.

Ronan expected them to give every ounce of their essences. Otherwise they were worthless to him.

…Vermin. Insects.

Gamora had no reason to believe otherwise. But what she had not foreseen were his plans related to their skills.

Unexpectedly, during the first weeks of their stay, the tall Kree Accuser did start taking interest in their training. He would watch the two sisters spar for a while, for a few minutes at most. His face was always an expressionless, blank wall on the way of his thoughts, and after a moment of silence he would take his leave on them.

Although no words said, there always was a shroud of judgment and evaluation present.

…As if they were nothing, but goods he had acquired and was constructing plans on using them.

Until, one day, after weeks of silent observation the Kree had proposed to spar with them. His intent was to train them. To hone their skills. The way he explained, the cold words stated; they were no value to him unless he saw them making progress. Yes – he saw them as weapons nonetheless, but instead of defeating men he wanted them to put down armies.

Gamora had accepted the challenge. Three times she was hit to the ground. And that exact amount of times she had gotten back up and charged against the Kree, ignoring the pain and complaints shrieked by her beaten muscles.

Finally he bound her against the wall of the training area, immobilizing her efficiently with his iron grip and sheer weight.

"Do you yield?" he pushed, eyes directed straight towards hers and mouth only a finger's width away from her lips. Gamora felt the heat of his breath on her skin.

_Do you think that's all I got?_

She had thought and pressed her lips against his.

She saw his eyes loose a portion of their obdurate focus and enlarge as a sign of surprise. The grip holding her still loosened, just slightly.

This resulting short moment of hesitation was all she needed to shift the direction of the battle. To turn it to the actual opposite. Locking the Kree's leg with her own, she used the wall behind her back as a support and pulled legs under the armored man. Black armor hit the ground with a loud clank as the Kree lost his balance. Gamora did not wait. In a blink of an eye she was sitting over her opponent, placing the blade of her retractable sword against the blue, exposed skin of his neck.

"Being unprepared is unacceptable," she had hissed, leaning over the Kree.

"You  _dare_  to…?!" Ronan boomed, red hot rage flaring in his eyes. But the sentence was cut short when the Kree was once again on top of his emotions and seemed to make the connection to his own prior statement.

He pushed the blade from his throat nonchalantly and was quickly back on his feet.

"You win this round, Gamora. I do not expect anything less from myself than from you," the Kree had told her whilst correcting the bindings of his armor.

"But I must stress that tactics like this benefit you only once."

There had been a hint of amusement behind the words.

It had been curious, intriguing in an undefined manner. Under all the armor, paint and strict unbending ideology was still a man.

A man - with weaknesses of a man.

He had tasted… far less repelling than she would have anticipated. In fact feelings like that had not crossed her mind during the kiss or afterwards.

Although there was nothing romantic in the kiss she had given – it was a split second decision and purely a tactical one – a small well-hidden part of her still caressed the memory. An action so simple and so far from violent… and she had been able to utilize it to her advance and gain a lone victory over a being so powerful. So strong and so untamed.

It felt…thrilling. She could not put it any other way.

She seemed to have gained a portion of the Accuser's respect after her flexible utilization of personal weaponry because some unstated details of their arrangement changed. Gamora was often summoned over her sister to accompany the Kree on the battlefield or to stand as a silent witness to many of those deadly, blood-tinted, stomach-turning proceedings that took place aboard the  _Aster._

"You stand accused for crimes against the Kree Empire."

Those were the dull, cold, resolute words often spoken by her master, true to the essence of an Accuser. There was only one type of punishment the Kree offered. Death.

"You will never rule over Xandar!"

Some of the people brought aboard the  _Aster_  were brave during the final moments of their lives. Like the Nova Corps soldier who had shouted those exact words at the Kree, thrown them at his face.

"No - I will  _cure_ it!" the Kree had responded, voice loud and coarse due to anger, before swinging the tall hammer he used as the means for delivering his justice.

Eerie crack of a skull was the noise, which ended any forms of conversation between a captive and the capturer. Blood and grey brain matter discolored the dark surfaces so often that the stains could not be washed away. Gamora did not twitch once due to the disgust nagging at the back of her mind during those countless times she was present.

During those occasions she did not see a man.

The being she saw was a bloodthirsty monster beyond anything even distinctively representing humane.

So tightly embraced by his beliefs and the war he saw as the only road worth taking, the Kree was a dark wind of Death sweeping through crowds of Xandarian people. And she was obliged to follow, because of her father, because of her duty.

Only rarely, during those sole moments when the battle had quieted down and there was no grim justice to spread, she did see hints of tiredness. Of a burden. Those manifested as small details breaking the steel strong walls surrounding his persona. Tiniest of cracks. Such as a lone second-long empty look in his eyes. The way he sometimes used a nearby wall to support his weight for a minute or two.

Ronan was a complex being.

She never enquired why the Kree had decided to visit her during that one night. Likely he would not have answered had she asked. He was an unexpected visitor behind her door. Dark eyes had lingered on her skin, which was moist due to the thin layer of sweat.

And she never quite understood why she had invited him inside her quarters.

Why she had let him stay.

…To watch her practice.

He was her master in the sense, yes. But there were actions she was not expected to perform – actions she never would have submitted herself to.

But that night there had been softness in his voice.

"The passion you use to enhance your movement…" he had said and stood up. "Because of the passion you truly are alive, Gamora. I see huge potential in you."

She had watched the tall Kree in silence. Seen once again, for this short period of time, the man beneath the threatening paint and the armor. Remembered the look of genuine surprise in the blue eyes during the single, unplanned kiss she had used as a diversion. Recalled the thrill.

…And she had thought,

_What the heck._

Determined, she had pushed the Kree back to her bed and went for the bindings of his armor. Their lips had met once again and this time there was no lack of response. When the large metal plates forming his armor were released from their fixings and her fingers explored the blue skin hidden underneath, she was already fully engulfed by the passion he had praised her of.

That exact night they had sparred for dominance. Eventually, neither of them had lost this battle.

…The mirrors of her room reminded her of those nightly hours at such a deep level. The mirrors in front of her.

Amidst the darkness, she had seen their reflections there. How the blue and the green were entwined.

… _their breaths, the rhythm, the sweat…_

… _fingers buried into her hair…_

… _the lips caressing her neck…_

… _those well-defined muscles she had sought and found…_

… _the fulfillment…_

The sound leaving her lips was full of rage and anguish, almost near inhumane. The fierce kick was directed towards her own reflection - towards a mirror and she saw it shatter to thousands of pieces. A rain of glass showered the floor.

It was not the man she was unable to stay with. It was the man-shaped monster who she could not allow to proceed any further. Because, ultimately, Ronan already had been consumed by his ideals and actions and the galaxy would burn where ever he set his foot.

Gamora walked out of the room and did not look back. She would not return, but would pay the price.

…Because due to her actions he would proceed to hunt her down until she stood accused in front of him...

* * *


	2. Obsession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for kudos and commenting! Here's the second part of Stand Accused.

Ronan supported the end of the Universal Weapon to the floor, fingers clenched tight around the sleek, long shaft. Standing at an almost vertical position, the head of the powered war hammer rose up the height of his chest. It was a threatening piece of equipment, tempered with a sea of Xandarian blood and to be bathed in much more to come before he was finished.

…The Kree had to mentally fight the urge of swinging it around in a fierce arc and smashing down everything what was reminiscent of any reflective surface inside of what had been Gamora's quarters. Broken and distorted, his image in the shattered mirror was a mockery – an insult of the direst form thrown directly at his face.

He was not entirely sure why it felt like that. Why it… stung, somewhere very deep. It was an alien sensation, a shadow of an emotion fully out of place.

A dissonance.

Breaking glass made dry, cracking sounds under the enforced heel of his boot when he shifted his weight. Shards shattered into smaller pieces.

At some level the sharp, hard-edged noise was fuel to the flames of anger burning within his gut – each and every single crack seemed to stiffen his posture just a little more. The sensation itself was very different from the cold, calculative, determination-driven fury, which summarized his feelings towards Xandar - with which emotions he had lived for so long that they were nothing less than tattooed to his essence. This was something else.

This was…

This was white-hot heat condensed and stinging; it was a blood-hungry, rapid wild predator crouching, growling, teeth revealed… prior to lunging into an attack.

He felt his lips press together and twist, slightly.

"She will not return," Ronan stated out loud, his voice more forced and tense than he had expected. Traitorously it had slipped more emotion through than he had intended, would ever have allowed. It was both unsuitable and unacceptable. He had trained his mind for far too many years – for a lifetime – to let anything but _obligation_ steer his thoughts.

Kree doctrine knew only one punishment for betrayal, he reminded himself.

His sole task was to ensure that it was delivered.

He had dealt with dozens of traitors to the Empire. Hundreds. Thousands. Why this one should be any different from the endless number of faceless criminals? This one bled just like the others. This one would scream just like the previous ones had. And after he was done and her blood had blended in the pool of those countless of creatures already forgotten and nameless, he would bathe in it and meditate.

Her essence was to be diluted until it existed no more. It was a justified punishment. The only suitable ending.

"All we know for sure is that she has been captured by the Nova Corps, Ronan," Nebula told him, breaking the moment's silence.

Insolent being. He knew more.

Ronan shook his head slowly and turned his gaze towards the Luphomoid, away from his own reflection. His eyes met the black irises.

The cybernetically augmented woman had been standing behind him. Lean build of notable height, but still significantly shorter than him. She was so close that he was able to smell her scent. There was a hint of a fruit he almost recognized, mixed to a metallic edge. It was starting to become a usual spot for the blue-skinned daughter of Thanos. She was a softly moving shadow at his heels. Ever so willing to serve.

… _So unlike her sister._

A pet animal, he was beginning to think. He had never valued animals very high… although when well trained they could be of use and that was the intention linked to this one. This one was a honed piece of weaponry, a knife in the dark.

"She will be dealt with the only acceptable way," he stated decidedly with a tone lacking anything but the steel of determination and turned to leave the room. He heard the Luphomoid assassin to follow. Agile, almost silent steps.

"Our father will want to be informed," she said. The spike of annoyance was evident in her voice.

Ronan did not respond. He was not the one to contact Thanos, did not carry the slightest bit of intention of doing so. Undoubtedly he could expect the Titan to be furious, but time was of the utmost importance and he was not about to waste it. The year or so he had cooperated with the Titan had already stretched his patience to limits he never had known even existed and currently they were closing in. And it was the daughter of the Titan who was the issue – who was the cause for this mess, but inevitably Ronan was the one cleaning it.

The first thing to be conducted at the bridge of the _Aster_ was to set the course towards Kyln without delay. According to his sources she was there, which made this almost all too unchallenging for him to enjoy the hunt. The prison was not a target Xandar expected him to take and he did not foresee much resistance. He would dig through the walls and to the heart of the facility, which held the Orb and…

_Her._

Motors of the _Dark Aster_ hummed and clacked decks below as he traversed the dark hallways of his flagship.

_What'll be the color of her blood?_

He silently wondered. It was an idle, stray thought.

He did not recall if he had taken a life of a Zehoberi before. They were a rare species, almost extinct. Would the blood circulating her system be blue, like Xandarian? Or crimson and warm, identical to a Terran's life liquid? Or as green as her skin?

The same shade, but a degree darker than her lips, perhaps?

…Those had been hungry. Both hungry and thirsty at the same time. Full and so very soft…

He recalled too clearly the tenderness in how she tasted. The feminine sweetness of her scent -

\- Ronan crushed the memory the very exact moment it appeared to him.

* * *

" _He is mine, sister. Any crooked lip games you play do not change it."_

Nebula's voice had been cold, evident irritation bubbling through. Unsurprisingly the Luphomoid had not been impressed of the tactic Gamora had utilized prior to gaining her one-time sparring victory over their tall master. She had made it very clear that Gamora had been crossing a territory she had already claimed.

 _Feel free, sis,_ she had thought.

_I'd rather jump out of the airlock…_

Likely Nebula was drawn towards the power she saw the Kree harnessing. Like a stray of light can enthrall a creature of night. This was yet one more case where their desires and targets clearly were not aligned. To her, Ronan was nothing more than the means for cutting ties to the madman with the fatherly syndrome.

Or…

Or those had been her thoughts before things turned out a Hell of a lot a more complicated than she had planned.

And now this… This was something that could be described a setback. So far her visit to the Nova Corps prison facility had been somewhat noisy if nothing else. She had been recognized in less than one minute and after that there had been a persistent number of inmates banging the doors of the cell she had claimed as hers, tossing blunt insults towards her. Brave as a group but yet too uncertain to act with violence. But sooner or later their confidence would peak and then she'd proceed to educate them why Thanos valued her.

She was not overly concerned, for now, but some alliances were in order or she'd find a crude self-made dagger digging its way towards her spine when she attempted to rest for the first time. The …rodent who was a partial cause for her plan failing in the first place had boasted of escaping more than twenty prison facilities. On the other hand, the Terran male had muttered something about being concerned of getting new scratches to the paint job of his ship when the Nova Corps transferred it here. So possibly there was something she could work with.

She had to move quickly. Relocate the Orb, retrieve it and travel to Knowhere. Four million units.

Move quickly - likely the time or moreover the apparent lack of it was about to become an issue.

Undoubtedly Ronan already was aware of her location. And whether or not the Kree was also aware of her actual plans related to the Orb was a path she most certainly did not want to explore. The Accuser was relentless and unyielding; he was a battering ram slamming upon his enemies until nothing but Death remained.

Those were the traits, which specified his existence. The same way the paint was spread over his features every morning and the exoskeleton was donned to cover his body, he wore his set purpose in a manner that he had long since evolved into the physical manifestation of it.

It was the symbolic infamous paint, the hand-drawn half-mask covering a majority of his features with black which was the face the galaxy knew and feared. He was…had been the Supreme Public Accuser of the Kree, the Accuser above all Accusers, the personification of judgment and of the harshest justice. Or did he still hold that position? He had never been openly stripped of it, had he? Although considered rogue and a terrorist by certain establishments, the Kree Empire actually never had officially condemned his actions.

It was a blind eye they had turned towards the carnage.

Why? It must've been something about their society. Or… him, what he represented to them.

Not much was known of the Kree Accuser. She had been told that he was a member of their nobility, but summing up everything she knew of the Kree culture, that most likely meant something else than delightful evening dinners in fine clothing and dazzling jewelry. Quite the opposite, in fact. The man was a seasoned warrior, a warlord hardened by a lifetime of war, blood and death. She had seen the proof: those persisting ghosts of pain inflicted upon his flesh, old markings almost invisible but scars nonetheless.

…Her fingers had traveled over those, sensitive tips taking note of slight indentations…

Gamora pulled the train of thought to abrupt halt. She wanted to scowl.

Why could not she just let… go? Forget. Let it be. Be done with it.

She was not some lightheaded wench. Rationalized, it was a one-time sidestep she could call nothing else than a mistake. A spur-of-the-moment adventure, which she had absolutely no intention of repeating had there even been a chance.

So why did her thoughts keep coming back to the Kree?

To _them?_

… _The beast had been tamed. No – that was a very incorrect wording whilst she did find soft enjoyment in the trope. Under no circumstances the large male laying next to her could be made docile in such the way. Rather, although he did not have fangs or claws, the manner he rested could be compared to a predator gathering its strength. Calm and silent, deadly, ruthlessness and sheer physical power embedded into nothing less than the muscle and bone structure._

_Naked skin following naked skin, she felt the warmth of his body. The broad chest pressing tightly against her back. The heat of his breath at her neck. The Kree was inhaling and exhaling heavily, drifting in and out of sleep…_

She had admired what she had seen. What she had received.

She knew she should have not, already during those hours of night. Because it was wrong in such a manner that she should have been coming up with new, stronger definitions for wrongness.

And yet, she found herself unable to.

… _The large palm was placed almost… possessively on her abdomen…_

Instead she had let her fingers follow curiously the convex forms of the muscles shaping the blue-skinned arm around her.

… _He reacted to her touch, was pulled from his sleep. A slightly shorter breath was inhaled and she felt his mass shift. Lips followed the arc of her neck towards her ear; the paint was textured and coarse. The hand slid up to cup her breast, the hint of roughness tingling her skin and leaving a trail of warmth in its wake._

… _She could feel the newly awakened desire, the soft hardness, his hunger not yet satiated…_

_Gamora turned her head, just enough to meet his features. The steady gaze in the dark eyes, the stare so intense. And there was a barely perceptible amount of..._

_Of…lightness? embedded into his expression. It was not a smile, but something yet unseen and unexpected which softened the stone of black and blue. Just slightly._

_Another round - is that what you want, Accuser?_

She had thought and smashed once again her common sense to pieces.


	3. Entanglement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for kudos & commenting - appreciated!

Aboard the _Dark Aster_ , Ronan the Accuser turned his back towards the carnage when his fleet obliterated the Kyln.

A short moment ago he had paced back and forth in fury and frustration before the enormous viewport opening towards the darkness and infinity of space. Now his mind was again tightly reined; his thoughts steered towards possible next steps despite the accumulated anger, which was a cold stone generating pressure inside his chest.

Destruction of the Kyln had been a just decision. A disease classified as something curable. A putrid, rotting, gangrened and decaying limb was to be amputated. His _obligation_ and _privilege_ was to rid the galaxy of it.

The prison was no more but yet, the satisfaction he could in other circumstances have felt, was a faint shadow. A tainted whisper. In many aspects, what he should have classified as one more victory over Xandar felt…hollow.

The prey was still on the loose. _She_ had escaped.

Ronan did not accept any forms of failure from his underlings. The least he swallowed nonachievement when he could not look beyond himself for the cause. This time - this _harrowing_ time - the window separating the success and its exact opposite had been three hours. It was an interval both excruciatingly short and more than well enough for a ship to make a jump to unknown coordinates.

What he had already instinctively known had been proven true by _her_ actions. He had seen the surveillance tapes, witnessed _her_ escape in the company of a motley crew of _waste_ … It was a ragtag group composed of a Terran male, a bulky primitive, a walking tree and a talking - the Kree momentarily halted the train of thought and searched for a suitable word, his vocabulary lacking one - _rat_. A talking rat.

The Orb was still in _her_ possession and he was yet again about to face the Titan empty-handed. The object seemed to be of great importance to Thanos but that was not the sole reason it had sparked his interest. If it was a tool able to call forth the destruction of Xandar as he had began to suspect, locating it had to trample down any of his other priorities.

He was a fool to allow being distracted.

But still. The grim understanding of being so close to catching _her_ and bringing _her_ face-to-face with Kree justice she so openly had flouted and defied dominated his thoughts. It should have not.

Yet it did.

The Kree bitterly acknowledged that he had been so certain of his success, so eager to see the justice fulfilled that he had risked the fury of Thanos by following the lead without delay. The Titan expected to be informed of such proceedings as the first priority and time undoubtedly was going to tell if any harsh consequences were on the way.

Ronan did not exactly look forward to the next meeting with the Mad Titan.

But the thin, fragile façade of submissiveness he had managed to hold upright with sheer willpower was starting to show signs of cracking. Each passing moment it was harder and harder to remember that Thanos was capable of ripping his heart out in a matter of seconds. Though he often felt like a lapdog of a powerful master - wagging its tail whilst being kicked - his pride was a ferociously growling beast. He needed every ounce of his self-control to keep it leashed.

An Accuser's purpose was to act as a judge and an executioner but, first and foremost, to _serve_ the people of Kree. Ronan was facing the need of reminding himself - nowadays constantly - that the impending destruction of Xandar outweighed any personal discomfort caused by his dealings with the Mad Titan. Although he could not deny that it was eating him, slowly, irrevocably, bit by bit.

Gritting his teeth in anger and disgust Ronan lifted his Universal Weapon, disinterested in wasting his thoughts on Thanos more than the absolute necessity required. The Accuser strode along the main walkway of the dimly lit bridge, past the four pilots in their chairs and towards his seat at the other end of the room. He sat down heavily but held his posture upright, ignoring the urge of leaning his weight to the hulking construction.

It had been a long day…week…year. During years of war those sequences defining natural cycles of time had long since evolved into a formless and incessantly evolving mass of events, lacking any beginning or end.

However, in his mind, the end did exist. It was in the form of the looming, crimson-colored aurora of the only possible resolution to the conflict between Xandar and the Kree Empire. The treaty was a fraud and it was an insult – he would see it to be ripped apart and soaked in blood of the very people who forged it.

A single act of betrayal was not of importance. Not in this context.

Ultimately, it was very simple. The Orb was of significance, for the Kree Empire and thus, for him. The sole reason _her_ location was still of relevance – should have been – that the Orb likely was in her possession. Nothing else.

So why did her treachery haunt him?

…He loathed admitting that it did.

It could not have been because she had offered him an access to her quarters…and much more than that. A way of releasing pressure, although enjoyable, still mere a physical act.

He had lain with numerous females. There always were those who were more than eager to fulfill the needs of the Supreme Accuser. Many even considered it an honor, a privilege to contend for. Most of the females were blue-skinned Kree as he, noble and beautiful members of their race – and he did not expect to receive anything less. They'd moan and whisper passionately into his ear how they wanted him as he thrust into them.

In his mind, although born from natural instincts, the act of copulation was just another exercise of physical ability.

Ronan did not mind taking pleasure from the softer forms and cavities of a feminine body. And after his needs were satiated and the female had cleansed and dried him, he'd leave - his mind as devoid of the female as his skin was. In the end, he did not hold the act in higher significance than an occasional release of bodily needs.

Under no circumstances he asked for their names.

Never, never did he request for the same female twice.

… _This one is no different_ , he thought dismissively, again.

Compared to others, she was not different. Of course she was not. Regardless of the fact that he had known this one's name. Or even though she had _not_ been the one seeking his company - this time it had been…

"Ronan."

Nebula's voice came out keen and required attention. The Kree turned his head to face the Luphomoid as the woman walked to his left side almost silently.

"The vessel is a Ravager M-ship registered by the name _Milano_ ," she reported.

"And the destination?" he immediately enquired, sharply.

"No further leads, Accuser. The trail has cooled down. One hour could have made a difference."

He felt his lips press together and twist as he held in the emerging grimace. The Kree wanted to shake his head in frustration, but forced himself to regain composure.

Ronan brought his fingers to his jaw, thinking. Chased both by him and the Nova Corps the Zehoberi did not have many options, not many safe havens - if any. Clearly Gamora had an interest towards the Orb. Either she was aware of what the object was or she expected to utilize it in some other benefiting manner. Everything was centered to the Orb, one way or another.

"What have you found out about her current… _acquaintances_?" he asked.

"It appears that my sister's loyalties have shifted towards the trash of the galaxy," Nebula told him, apparent venomous disdain in the slightly altered voice.

"They should not be much of a threat, Ronan. A thief, a bounty hunter and a brute… And a sentient plant. They have been identified as…"

The black, shining irises were fixated to his face as the Luphomoid explained everything she had been able to uncover about Gamora's companions. The details did not leave Ronan impressed, rather only wondering what the Zehoberi had seen in the lot.

Nuances - he'd smash his way through them if needed.

Nebula's eyes had not left his features, he noted.

"She will face the justice," Ronan stated laconically. "As will her companions."

Nebula's expression was unreadable as the woman leaned closer. Her scent was sweet and strong in his senses, but left him…cold.

"I trust the Kree justice is unyielding to those responsible of treason," she said, tone softening, lips almost touching his headdress.

"It is," he replied out loud.

"Then, do not ever question my loyalty, Accuser," she told him, voice an almost whisper. Ronan watched in silence as the Luphomoid reached with her left hand.

"Whatever services you require of me… I am yours to use."

The sensation - the soft, seducing and very implicative squeeze of her fingers very close to his crotch made his lips twist to a teeth-revealing grimace as the anger flared through him. With one fierce movement he clenched his fingers around the wrist of the hand – the limb that had made such a _daring_ action.

"Repeat that and prepare to _lose_ your hand!"

Nebula instinctively attempted to pull her hand from his grasp. In vain.

"Know your place!" he growled harshly, voice coarse due to anger. "There are certain lines that _shall not be_ _crossed_ , daughter of _Thanos_!"

He twisted the lean, cybernetic limb with power fuelled by aggression; heard and felt the mechanics crack and snap satisfyingly under the force of his grip.

The voice leaving Nebula's lips was pained, unexpectedly so.

Ronan knew very well that the cybernetic arm was not capable of transferring such sensations. But when he let go of her, she gathered the artificial limb to her chest as if she had been genuinely hurt and injured. Ronan watched unmoved as the Luphomoid retreated hastily across the bridge and towards the nearby hallway.

_So unlike her sister_ , he thought bitterly.

* * *

Already prior to the _Milano_ docking on Knowhere Gamora knew that she was facing an issue.

The 'issue' in question had a name. Peter Quill.

She had never met a man quite like the Terran before. First of all, the male seemed to be mentally totally immune to her background. He treated her like some…some _damsel in distress_ even though she was more than capable of gutting him from navel to chin with one subtle stroke of her blade. Either he was a complete and utter fool, almost absurdly self-destructive or insanely confident of his charm. She could not decide which.

Secondly, she did not recall the previous time someone had openly flirted with her.

Flirted! - With _her_.

She was not a mindless flower for men to be dallied with.

And no man who still had functional brain cells inside his skull did so after becoming aware of her identity. More precisely, many men did not literally _have_ the actual brain matter in place after she had e _nlightened_ them who she was. Carrying the reputation of the most deadly woman in the galaxy and being the adopted daughter of someone capable of wiping away entire civilizations most certainly were not features, which increased her market value amongst the more masculine creatures.

Not that she had a need for being courted, adored and pampered.

She preferred straightforward communication and having the opportunity of her blade doing the talking shifted it even more up to her tastes. Battle was what she was made for – what she had trained for the extent of her life. So, when someone complimented the color of her eyes between the lines of a joke so terrible that it was almost humorous…or seemed to deliberately seek her company, she did not quite know if she had to be curious or horrified.

Gamora had chosen to walk the path that snaked somewhere in between.

As a result, she did not drive the Terran instantly away when the man had decided to join her on the lone balcony. The crowd inside the nearby bar formed a suffocating cacophony of noise and smell. Gamora had chosen to wait outside where a small balcony extended to the side of the building, watching the sick swirl of blue, purple and yellow on the sky of Knowhere.

Gamora was patient by nature and training, but this time the doing nothing was about to drive her crazy. The Collector was not a man to be hurried and there was nothing she could do about it. She wanted to carry out the exchange and be gone… Before Ronan was able to piece certain things together and the relentless Kree was _en route_ to Knowhere.

The tall man in the black armor, face painted in the way she so well knew, and the eyes, which just pierced into her soul…all of those memories were crafting shadows over her thoughts where ever she looked. She did not fear the Kree – her father had taught her what fear truly meant - and she would fight for her life if their paths were to cross again. But as long as the exchange with the Collector was not finalized and she wasn't off planet, the future was clouded by an oily pool of anticipation.

However, the presence of the Terran seemed to offer her a momentary break from those lone and dark thoughts. Possibly it was due to Peter's clumsy openness or the encouragement in his expression, but she had found them talking. She never did that, either. Discussed.

"When I found out that my father had promised to destroy a whole planet for Ronan… It was just too much. I had to act," she had told him. And he listened, nodded and commented understandingly. It was…unexpected.

A portion of her actually genuinely enjoyed the company of the man, watching his mouth move as he told her tales of Terran mythology…with that exited spark twinkling in his blue eyes. When he had finished, she wanted to hear more. And as the man placed gently his portable sound device on her ears, her world was flooded with the beat of Terran music…

It was something she had never experienced.

" _I fooled around and fell in love…"_ a voice sang as the rhythm carried the melody and pulled her thoughts away from the present.

His hands were large and warm as his fingers closed tenderly around her palms. It did not feel uncomfortable. Possibly it was due to the warmth, the closeness, and the music…the intoxicating combination of all of those. But a thought of pushing the man away did not cross her mind at the time.

"... _fooled around and fell in love,"_ the device sang as she closed her eyes, submerging into the alien melody, her body responding to the tempting beat almost automatically.

The Terran's breath swept across her lips with warmth as the man leant closer. But when her lips parted to receive what she instinctively knew was coming, a lone, stray thought appeared in her mind.

… _Ronan would not do this… Kiss._

She presumed. Knew. Not outside sex, at least. She could not imagine the Kree Accuser leaning towards a woman like this, hands tenderly around her.

It was a fully and totally out-of-place image.

…And she recalled all too clearly the way he had tasted.

…The very unique flavor of the paint on his lips in combination with the utter male scent…

"... _around and fell in love…"_

This situation - she understood. There was utmost wrongness in it and she was done with it.

… _No more!_

_I am nobody's woman!_ She mentally screamed.

Her eyes snapped open to see the Terran's face tilted downwards, almost touching hers.

"No!" Gamora cried out, drawing her dagger. Swiftly, almost as a reflex the blade was flush on the skin of his neck. Peter's back arched over the railing of the balcony when he bent away to avoid the sharp and very deadly contact.

"Whoa!" Peter exclaimed, short of breath.

"I know who you are, Peter Quill! I am not some starry-eyed waif here to succumb to your…your _pelvic sorcery_!" she shouted at him in anger, barely noticing that her voice trembled.

"Wha…what the Hell?" the Terran's voice cracked in apparent shock.

Gamora let the man go, shaking her head as the man watched her in curious bewilderment, a tiny bit of fear in his eyes. A portion of her wondered how people typically handled situations like this. The rest did not give a damn.

Or that was what she told herself.

* * *

"You disobeyed my direct command, _boy_ ," Thanos boomed.

Ronan had finally gained the Titan's attention by slaughtering the Other. The powerful being had turned his gravity-ignorant throne around up high on the crimson sky of the Sanctuary. Although Ronan was forced to look up in order to meet the rugged, stony features of the Titan, they finally communicated in a way that was remotely reminiscent of the face-to-face manner.

Very remotely.

It was the best result he was ever going to get and he knew it.

The corpse of Thanos' servant was cooling and stiffening on the rocky, dead ground behind Ronan and he did not intend to spare it another glance. It was insulting to send a spokesperson…a pawn…to communicate with him and he was done with insults.

"I did what was necessary!" Ronan stated between his teeth, voice tense. The rage was still red hot and boiling, overwhelming and tempting. Although he'd found a single outlet for it in the form of the Other, it had not eased its tenacious grip over his mind.

"And yet you have nothing to show. Your meaningless politics and inefficiency are starting to _bore me_ , boy."

Ronan stood his ground under Thanos' ramming glare.

_You know nothing,_ he thought.

" _Your_ daughter is the cause for this delay. I only attempted to minimize the _damage_ she has caused with her recklessness," he snarled loudly, supporting to the rage-fuelled courage and peaking ignorance related to his own mortality.

"I see that you have alienated my favorite daughter, Kree," the Titan told him.

The anger he felt was a seductive siren singing and he wondered, for a fraction of a second, just how long he'd actually last against the Titan.

Ronan saw Nebula shaking her head, openly disgusted due to Thanos' words. The Luphomoid woman had found a seat on one of the dark rocks under her father's floating throne and was still working to repair the arm he had damaged. On the way, the woman had complained that some of the more advanced mechanics were still not fine-tuned up to the level they had been.

"Gamora left by her own choice," he defended himself and _her_ name tasted like venom in his mouth.

His words did not have an impact on the Titan who barely appeared to take note of them, if at all.

"I am giving you one more chance, boy, and be appreciative of that. So far you have succeeded only in wasting my time. For now I will still honor the agreement, if you bring me the Orb and thus show efficiency. But fail again and I shall bathe star-ways with your blood," Thanos rumbled before once again turning his back towards him.

"Sounds good, Dad," Nebula stated, interpreting that the meeting was over. Although she hid her emotions well, he knew that she was as eager to leave the Sanctuary as he was.

The woman walked past him towards the outline of the small transportation vessel not far off. They had used it to arrive on the rock. He strode beside her in silence; dully pondering the extent of actions Nebula's hatred towards her father could accelerate her, when adequately prompted.

Ronan had seen it inside Nebula - the same flame as ablaze within her sister - the day they had met for the first time. In that single, distinguishable manner the two sisters were very much alike. Identical. Both of them equally loathed, despised and detested the man who had raised them.

Aesthetically pleasing and lethal, determined in their mutual hatred towards their adopted father - so very alike. And yet, so very different at such a basic, principle level.

There was one: the submissive. And the other, the…intriguingly…defiant.

_Gamora._

There had been defiance in her eyes, always. Even when she had been riding on top of him by her own initiative, his hands around her waist…

… _her hair loose, dark strands sticking to the thin layer of sweat on her green skin. She arched forward, elegantly…_

And their eyes had collided. Hunger and passion - yet defiance.

He had expected her to stand beside him in battle when the time of making the choice should come. Her betrayal had sparked something within him that he was still looking words for…something he was yet digesting and could not fully comprehend.

The justice would wash her from his mind.

Upon boarding the _Dark_ Aster, they were greeted by a Sakaaran officer who reported that the fleet had received a message. From the brute. From one of Gamora's companions.

Those few words of vengeful, drunken speech probably were the greatest form of idiocy Ronan had ever witnessed, but he did not feel amusement. Coordinates of Knowhere were set to navigation computers of the _Aster_ as he watched the dark space through the viewport, Nebula standing next to him.

The prey was there, waiting.

"The Orb _or_ my sister, Accuser?" Nebula asked sharply and only then he noticed that he had spoken those words aloud. "Nowadays you do not seem to make a difference. Do I need to enquire if you are losing your focus?"

Ronan kept his expression stoic and emotionless when he turned to face Nebula. Or at least he tried.

For the first time in a very long time he was unsure, if he actually had succeeded.

* * *

She floated.

In absolute silence. Nothingness.

The sensation of extreme cold, eating inwards towards her bones…cut away.

Gamora's first perception was the darkness surrounding her and the steady humming noise on the background. Where ever she was, the slight pain pulsating from her joints and hands informed that she had landed hard.

It took her a while to understand that she was sprawled face down against a cold, hard, flat surface. Gamora blinked at the lack of light, her eyesight adjusting to the dim, almost non-existent illumination when she pushed herself shakily to more of a sitting position.

She drew in a heavy breath to steady her jumbled thoughts.

It took a little longer for the images to set themselves to their correct locations.

There was something about an attempted escape in a small mining ship…Necrocrafts everywhere like a swarm of flesh-eating flies. She remembered the vicious impact when ammo spat out by a Necrocraft tore her ship to pieces of metal shrapnel. After that…there was not much.

Nothing.

Gamora swallowed down her growing concern.

Looking further back, in addition, there was a recollection of a sphere…of an orb.

_The Orb._

The disorientation washed away when pieces of memories clicked to their intended places.

Not a mere sphere – it had been _the_ Orb…which had revealed an Infinity Stone inside its metallic shell and the Collector's apartment had burned to cinders. It was an item capable of destroying entire planets, the Collector had claimed. After witnessing the tiniest fragment of its power firsthand, she did not have trouble believing exactly that.

The Orb had been in her possession when Ronan's fleet had suddenly blackened the sky and she'd stolen the mining ship to make a hasty escape. She felt like cursing out loud when the icy grip of sheer horror momentarily took a hold of her.

So where was the Stone? Where in the _blasted Hell_ was the Stone?

Ronan had to be kept away from it - at all costs.

She examined her surroundings in furious sweeps to get a grasp upon her whereabouts. The room was not large; a small square restricted by dark, metallic walls and a heavy door. She had already deduced that it was a holding cell. The room itself was not conspicuous, but there was a sense of familiarity in the dark metal used to construct it.

Way too much familiarity, in fact.

She wanted to shout out in frustration, wanted to slam her hands against the cool, menacing surfaces. Kick and slash her way through the impenetrable, hard metal.

…Because, under any circumstances, did Gamora recognize engravings adorning walls of the _Dark Aster._ Those ancient Kree symbols decorated many surfaces, such as the bridge…

…And holding cells meant for the accused.

There, inside the darkest rooms of the _Aster_ repeated the engraving carrying the meaning of Death and retribution – in Kree those were the same.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line used in the 'pelvic sorcery' scene obviously belongs to Marvel and not me.


	4. Pull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for all the lovely kudos and comments - I truly appreciate every single one. Apologies for my absence, but well…life is life. 
> 
> This update offers quite much more darkness, but also a bit… Let's see.
> 
> I hope you like it!

Apart from the constant, distant humming of motors of the  _Dark Aster_ , the cell was completely silent. It had stayed so when minutes spread and evolved into hours. And equally long had Gamora grimly acknowledged that her chances of escaping the metallic gut of the  _Aster_  were virtually nonexistent _._

Very familiar of the Accuser's straightforward and ruthless nature, the apparent lack of interest Ronan had showed towards her proved that she was already dead. It was not pessimism, or a sign that she was mentally adapting to the seemingly inevitable. It was realism, plain and simple and cruel.

How ugly those may be, Gamora never was the one to set aside facts. Her father was not going to provide her safety – even the thought felt absurd. She was just an asset, one of the many pawns in his complex, interlinking games and thus fully replaceable. Thanos played games plainly one-way, so her presence provided absolutely no value in terms of gaining leverage towards the Mad Titan and it was a fact Ronan was well aware of. She did not have any information Ronan considered potentially valuable - otherwise she'd already been sent face to face with one of his many interrogators.

So, only one macabre alternative remained aboard the  _Dark Aster._ For Gamora, it did not mean that she was planning to go without starting an actual fight. Whether she'd battle for her life, or just simply ended up letting out the accumulated frustration with a few well-aimed kicks to a horde of suitable torsos, did not matter to her at this point.

Hours spent alone in the oppressive silence of the cell had given her time to think, for the least. Her thoughts had momentarily lingered at the group of her short-term companions. She assumed the miscellaneous lot, whoever remained alive, to be now disbanded due to the loss of the four million units as the driving force initially keeping it together…

But mostly the relentless Kree had dominated her thoughts - the male she now equally considered both her enemy and her mistake. Certain things were better left untouched and there had never, never been a single drop of doubt in her mind that Ronan wasn't one of those.

She was not spontaneous in her actions, never had been. Still, the presence of the male had tingled some very right spots within her and she hadn't admitted to herself the fact that she was drawn to him until it was already too late. The attraction was – had been - purely of sexual nature, but as intoxicating as if it was a drug circulating her system and overriding her thoughts. Although he had approached her, she had taken the initiative, crossed all boundaries of control she had ever built. And he had responded…he  _actually_  had responded, wanted her, due to reasons she would never know.

There was something about the feeling she had trouble erasing from her mind… The thrilling sensation during that certain night in the nearby past… How the raw and untamed power was amendable to work purely towards her pleasure and desires when she had wished so.

On the other hand, facing what she already so well knew about the Accuser: her sidestep probably didn't make her situation any worse. The ultimate defining force behind the man - the starving, blinding, abysmal flame of revenge driving the Kree zealot through the galaxy like a wave of annihilation ensured that she would have been in the death row in any case. She had known what was at stake the moment she took off and hadn't turned to look back.

…If nothing else, Ronan was a physical manifestation of vengeance.

The being she was about to meet was the monster, not the man. It was the terrorist, the mass murderer and the sociopath. Not the powerful, gorgeous male whose neck she had bit whilst climaxing and who had thrust her from one peak of pleasure to the next one. It was the creature so twisted by his desire for revenge that any act reminiscent of real, true justice had long been diluted from his actions.

Yes, she made a difference between the two sides of the Accuser because she could not fully disregard either of them. The other one she remembered with near phantasmal pleasure…and the remaining, revenge personified, had no hope left for him.

She did not regret betraying him because although she had failed, there had been no other option.

Nor did she regret sleeping with him.

…She detested him, loathed his twisted mind…yet her skin adored the memory of him…

* * *

For him, personally, trust was a disease.

" _You will not fail,"_  Ronan had said.

" _Have I ever?"_

Her answer was scorched into his mind to mock him each and every single time he laid his eyes upon her.

How the memory of those very words still pushed his mind to an emotional maelstrom of hot molten lava. How the words still taunted him and turned his vision red.  _Have I ever?_  - It had been her answer. She had looked straight into his eyes, gaze steady and unwavering, held her chin up confident whilst her mouth had effortlessly formed those lies…

The few words stated on the morn of her desertion had been a promise of treachery Ronan had failed to identify. He despised himself because of that – the nature of the failure had been of a personal kind. Trust was a luxury he had seldom afforded, if ever, and it was only sensible in his position. After years of maneuvering in the highly volatile core of Kree politics and witnessing countless of times how the weak perished, always, without exception, he had grown so used to the constant distrust that he did not know otherwise. One of the many blood-soaked lessons learned.

Yes, trust was a gift he never gave, for it was an opening left amidst the swirl of a battle. It was a careless back turned towards an enemy. It was a dysfunctional stub of an amputated limb.

It was weakness.

And this time he had allowed it to flee from his grasp like a bewildered bird without a second thought behind. Only because  _she_ had supported her words to it - utilized his trust as a tool… He had laid all of that within her reach, given everything to her on an open palm. A humiliating, unacceptably cheap price for an invaluable item, nonetheless.

It had taken a while for Ronan to fully process…to understand that nothing else than a careless stray emotion had made her treachery possible. He had  _wanted_ to, how absurd it now felt to him… He had trusted her because his inner desire had been so, and this acknowledgement was an intruder infiltrating the sanctum of rationality of his mind. A portion of him, hidden somewhere very deep within the dark, incessantly swirling cloud of his thoughts had seen her walking beside him from battle to another. From one blood-red sunrise to the next one. It was the place he had meant for her.  _Intended_ her to have. Where she  _should have_  stood.

Never meant to be, to exist, yet it was the gift she had defiled.

And he was a fool, deceived by those beautiful, full lips, which were capable of forming lies… On top of other actions, hungry yet soft, traces of which his skin still remembered with mocking ease…

He understood that her betrayal stung, but did not want to explore further why.

Currently the treacherous mouth stood still in silence, a continuation of the determined serenity set on her features. The slender Zehoberi sat in an almost meditative position, sparing her strength and preparing her mind for the upcoming. Likely her thoughts were already reined and aligned, supported to the frame of control constructed by a lifetime's worth of training and naturally strong will.

Ronan had expected nothing less from Gamora, although the vengeful part of his nature was far from being satiated and wanted to see so much more.

The Kree had observed her through the monitors conveying a view to the holding cell she was kept in. He had watched her almost as if fixated and for far too long, he acknowledged, but had still not forced his eyes to leave her form. The Accuser had seen her regain consciousness. Her enhanced system had recovered from the lethal effect of the vacuum of the space quickly as expected. He had watched her initial reaction and relished in it.

He wanted to see more hate and fear and knew with certainty that he would be gifted with none.

There was a tint of certain, almost bittersweet justice in the series of occurrences, which had led Gamora being surrounded with intellectually deprived - or at least one almost entertainingly large individual. Seeing the dark irony, Ronan would have been slightly amused had the circumstances been different.

The Accuser did not know the current whereabouts of the small motley crew that had given them a chase on the surface of Knowhere. Nor was he interested in gaining that knowledge. In no manner were they a threat to him after he had come into the possession of both the Orb and its thief. Due to some personal agenda of vendetta the tattooed, grey-skinned brute had foolishly charged at him on Knowhere and managed to keep him occupied for a short while. They had battled, if he could describe dodging a few drunken blows with as a noble term as such.

In the end, Ronan had not even turned to actually check whether or not he had succeeded in taking the life of the beast. He knew that he had been negligent. Partly because he had not bothered; because the brute had not been worthy of a single click more of his time for there had been no actual challenge. But - but mainly due to the constant mental tingle, which had kept pulling his focus elsewhere like it was on a tight leash and he was not the master. This alien feeling had slowly digested any space left for other thoughts until only a single target had shined through the abyss of his mind.

On Knowhere had been only two things of interest: the Zehoberi and the Orb she had stolen. Only one of them had been at the peak of his thoughts. And what came to the impending destruction of Xandar, it had been the wrong one.

Ronan did not understand why the knowledge of her presence had been so distracting that it had led him to carelessness. He was not concerned of the brute, but rather due to the lack of discipline he had witnessed himself to exhibit. One of the basic actions a Kree warrior was programmed to carry out was to ensure that an enemy was either dead or gravely maimed. Rather the first than the latter. Anything else was foolish - and he had walked away only because he was in…hurry?

Somehow, she weakened him, made him act all irrational, and it was a situation he could not allow to persist.

His eyes traveled all over her black-clad form, once again, memories of the feel of her skin bouncing to his mind with every stroke of his sight, like his thoughts were a pack of animals gone wild. He didn't know what to make of it. Ronan had expected certain things to be different when Gamora took the position of an accused…and his only remaining responsibility was to accuse. He had presumed that she was totally cleansed from his mind the moment the chase was over and there was nothing left than the judgment to carry through. When she was fully at his mercy and it was all over for her…

…Yet, there she was. Still plaguing his thoughts.

He wanted to be her judge, wanted her to meet the only possible punishment, yet touch her. He wanted to fulfill his duty as her executioner and see her perish, yet touch her… And moreover, to see the fear and an understanding of the approaching ultimate finality setting into her eyes a second before her death. But touch her.

He had mentally compared the situation to a splinter piercing through his skin, and rather a large one, to be precise. There was a disturbance and it had to be eliminated for him to continue forward with his duty without any unnecessary interference.

Her punishment had to be carried out with haste. She would pester his thoughts as long as she lived.

Thinking further ahead, Knowhere had turned odds into his favor. Nebula had delivered him both the Orb and her own sister, gaining a portion of his respect – and at least one of the two sisters was still following her orders. His prizes, the Orb and the Zehoberi, both out of reach of Thanos, and aboard the  _Dark Aster_. It was a victory, yet he did not feel victorious.

The only victory he knew was to be born from the ashes of Xandar. It was to be fuelled by what lay beneath the ancient, ornate metal shell of the Orb. Not for long had he understood why the device was so extremely valuable for Thanos…

…But first, a closure. Her retribution.

Grim, steel-hard determination dominating his thoughts Ronan turned around and left the room, left the monitors, left  _her_.

* * *

Nebula was the first one to open the door to her cell.

During her first few phrases the bald Luphomoid scolded her, black irises shining and hard as stone. She reminded her of her failure. Described how she was a disgrace to all of her Sisters. Gamora shook her head at her so-called sister's words, silent and unmoved.

"I have come to tell that the Accuser has decided upon your fate," Nebula finally proceeded to inform her. "Ronan wants you dead...s _ister_."

"Tell me something I can consider as news," she bit back and watched her sister's glare to intensify.

"I am sorry…" Nebula stated softly, yet words cold as ice. "I am sorry I didn't have the privilege of killing you personally."

Gamora had to try, one more time.

"Ronan cannot have the Orb, Nebula. Do you understand? This will not end to Xandar, he'll-"

"Too late," Nebula cut in, uninterested in continuing the discussion.

The Luphomoid stood up and walked out of the cell quietly like a ghost. The door clanked closed behind Nebula, an opening in the doorway momentarily encasing the Luphomoid's dark silhouette in an aura of dim light. Nebula's appearance was a signal, she knew. A  _damning_  signal.

Gamora didn't need to wait long for the second one to enter, a Sakaaran guard. She jolted up to her feet and killed him barehanded, just to make a point. The Zehoberi dashed out to the darkly lit hallway…only to meet a dozen Sakaaran blades trained to her chest. It was not unexpected - the Kree new exactly just how efficient she was which was directly reflected in the amount of escorts she gained.

She didn't say a word when the Sakaarans led her through the hallways of the  _Aster_. She didn't need to because she was very well aware of their destination and the ultimate nature of it.

Neither did she say anything when they pushed her towards the chair, or rather the stand, at the center of the round hall part of so many proceedings she had witnessed. No sound escaped her lips when many hands forced her to the half-standing, half-sitting position offered by those dull, metallic constraints; where her muscles still had to work in order to ease the stress on her spine caused by the unnatural and painful angle. They bent her arms backwards and she could do absolutely nothing about that. Cold bindings tightened around her wrists and ankles so that blood barely made it through.

She worked to keep her calm, focusing on her breathing, determined not to let out any emotions despite the discomfort and pain. As the final piece the large metal collar was placed clanking around her neck. The massive weight landed on her ribcage and her own breathing became shallower in her ears due to the pressure she had to battle.

She was held perfectly still by the construction.

Perfectly presented for the Accuser.

Meters away she heard the doors slide open and then close. The Kree had entered; the heavy stride of large boots carried the Accuser towards the center of the room. Even if she had been able to, she had no need to look in order to sense the male's presence, oppressive and dark. Ronan did not rush, the Kree approached slowly and circling around her as if examining his reward and cherishing the moment.

She knew the words that were about to be said for she had heard them countless of times before, so she did not wince when they echoed in the hall.

" _You_ stand accused for crimes against the Kree Empire."

Somewhere behind her, Ronan's voice was a booming whip, cold and resolute.

"Stand accused…  _Gamora_."

He repeated, her name traversing his lips slowly, she noted. As if he had tasted its flavor. But behind that single, short, lingering moment there was poison and it was not kind of a poison, which merely killed – it was of that kind which melted internals into formless, rotten pulp and inflated the carcass until it ripped apart.

"There is no Empire, Ronan, only you," she spat through her lips, voice strained and hoarse due to the constant tension her body was subjected to.

There was no reply; the Kree seemingly brushed aside her words.

Gamora heard the male's heavy footsteps as the Kree walked close past her. She sensed the flow of air in his wake, smelled the natural scent of the male. Metal and leather and Kree mixed. Suddenly Ronan the Accuser was a hulking, imposing black form straight in front of her and only then she fully realized how absolutely personal it was for him.

The Kree was tense, very tense, large fingers bent so tightly around the shaft of the Universal Weapon that tendons of his hand were pronounced. However it was not his posture, but the wild, fierce look in his eyes, gleaming amidst the mask of black paint and features of blue stone that made her feel truly…

Hopeless. Lost. She did not want to accept the thought, not yet, but knew that she was infinitesimally close to the point where she had to.

Because waiting was not a part of Ronan's plan.

"Your punishment, daughter of Thanos," the Kree laconically stated high above her, through twisted lips and harsh tone. The male aligned himself in order to deliver the blow, sharp eyes never leaving her bound form.

The Accuser never missed his target.

"Your justice –-" Gamora heard herself speaking. A wordless grunt left Ronan's lips as his tall form bent backwards in order to deliver the massive, crushing blow – the hit that was to smash her skull and spill her brain matter everywhere.

"- is tainted, Ronan!" she shouted out loud the same time as the giant hammer cut the air, tensioning her muscles instinctively to meet the deadly impact of the weapon…

It never came. The head of the warhammer swept past her cheek, leaving an air gap of only a palm's width between. The Weapon met the floor beside her with force that echoed from the walls of the chamber, but was soon pulled away to the Accuser's hands.

"You call me unjust?" the Kree unexpectedly retorted, sharply, as if almost…insulted.

"You  _dare to_  call me unjust?"

Gamora watched him for a split-second, blinking in surprise at the recent turn of events. Her innate stubbornness kicked in almost immediately.

"Where is your Empire, Ronan? All I see is a lone puppet twisted to my Father's will! A single man waging a single man's war just as my Father sees him to do!" she shouted back at him in anger, shrugging off the pain, discomfort and the fact that she was dancing on ice so thin that it virtually did not exist.

"Silence!" he roared.

"You speak for an Empire when the only one I've defied is - is  _you_!" she snarled, the collar almost choking her when she tried to shout.

There was anger but also frustration in Ronan's movement when he gestured sharply towards the group of Sakaaran guards still present.

"Leave!" the Kree ordered the guards harshly, not releasing her from the peak of his focus.

She felt his fingers tangle in her hair and Ronan jerked her head rapidly upwards, forcing her to meet his eyes. The Accuser was hunched over her so that their features almost touched. Muscles of her neck screamed due to the unnatural posture and a jolt of pain traveled down her spine, however she noticed it only barely. Ronan's features were dark and stony, yet the tense breathing and flaring nostrils revealed a small portion of the storm raging inside his mind. But his eyes, piercing and ablaze were a mirror to his rage more than anything.

Gamora did not blink, did not allow herself to blink. She pressed her lips tightly and stubbornly together and met his ramming glare with her own.

His breath brought a stroke of warmth to her face, but she did not flinch.

"You call me unjust, daughter of Thanos," the Kree stated between his teeth, eyes fixed to hers. He had lowered his voice again, but was not able to hide the tension in it.

"Let us settle this in a manner which most certainly is not unjust."

Those words did not bring her hope because the tone of his voice promised her a horrifying death a million times over. Something in his eyes had shifted and she understood that apart the anger she now saw a predator there, behind. A hunter's gaze. The thirst for blood and revenge, but moreover the thrill of an upcoming hunt. It was a haunting, chilling look.

Yet, it was unheard of. During the numerous executions she had seen the Accuser perform, rarely an accused had stayed silent. There had been tear-soaked pleas for mercy, vicious threats which flew like ammo and anything between. And always, without an exception had the Accuser remained nonchalant and nothing but single-minded of what came to bringing his grim duty to a closure. Not a single accused had walked away from the chair, ever.

The chair rattled and clanked as the Kree swiftly released her from the bindings. And she stood up, massaging her sore wrists slightly to increase mobility. She watched in silence as Ronan turned around and supported the Weapon against the wall of the chamber, all of his demeanor appearing calm and collected when his expression was hidden from her. It was easy to see that he was mocking her, openly showing that she was no threat to him by turning his back towards her.

The Kree turned around, empty-handed and eyeing her like she was a piece of meat hung up to dry prior to being digested. His lips bent upwards and a dark smile played on his features, eyes fierce and hungry.

"Battle is a fair judge, Gamora. Surely your Father has taught you this."

She blinked, slightly taken aback by his words. Her body instinctively reacted when the Kree lunged into an attack.

Gamora had sparred against Ronan multiple times and those were well enough to tell her that they weren't exactly equal opponents. This particular Kree was a force of nature and was able to lift tons when encased inside his powered battle armor. He preferred the use of his arms and pure, crushing strength whilst she relied on agility, fast feet and her blade as her greatest assets. The blade was not available this time. Against an armored monster who did not stagger due to her kicks…what she had was not enough.

But all creatures had their weaknesses. All she had to do was to figure out Ronan's. Of all the times they had sparred she had beaten him only once. It meant that she had succeeded once. It meant that she could succeed twice.

Gamora dodged backwards as Ronan's hand slashed through the space where her head had been a split-second ago. She landed on her feet and rolled out of his reach, adrenaline rushing through her veins, as the Kree closed the distance. The Zehoberi managed to use his next attack as an opening and directed a fierce kick towards his bare neck… She expected her foot to meet with his skin, but instead felt his fingers close around her ankle when the Kree grabbed her leg mid-flight. Her momentum shattered and she landed hard on her hands. A wordless sound left her lips as she impacted the surface of the floor.

The Zehoberi managed to crawl and roll some air between them. Gamora gathered her bearings for a second, eyeing the Kree and seeing a wicked smile on his lips. Ronan enjoyed this, enjoyed to see her on the ground, she assumed. This was nothing more than a morbid game for the Accuser, both psychological and physical and in both ways he was scolding her. His every action pointed towards that. Fueled with fresh anger she moved quickly on the offensive, knowing that otherwise she would loose in any case.

The next series of attacks resulted as a partial success, as her foot met the side of his breastplate with force whilst the other one went for the back of his knee. He swayed to keep his balance and turned towards her, grimacing. She almost got away when he lurched forward…

Almost.

The Accuser rammed her against the wall, locking her against the vertical surface efficiently with his body weight. She screamed in anger. Her palms hammered uselessly against the breastplate until he immobilized also them with his grip and an armored forearm.

Ronan studied her features - face a stone of black and blue, lips pressed tightly together and murder flaring through his eyes. She steeled herself, understanding that her escape was unlikely and the only thing left was to go her chin up. If Ronan expected her to beg or to weep, her sole target was to keep him disappointed.

"Do you yield?" he asked, eyes narrowing, gaze not leaving her face.

Gamora understood the gesture. The Kree was aiming for an ultimate humiliation. She would give him nothing!

"Never!" she hissed, barely able to speak due to his mass.

Ronan's lips bent slightly upwards and revealed a small amount of black teeth in a malicious smile, which made her expect a rain of pain and a specifically engineered gruesome death. And she knew that her training would take her far what came to resisting mental and physical torture...

But no training from any master in the whole universe had prepared her for what came next.

The Kree slammed his lips against hers in a form of a rough, violent kiss. Angry, brutal, almost painful on her lips…

She bit back, gnashed his skin with her teeth. He pulled off, grunting.

...The paint on his lower lip had flaked, she noticed. A hint of surprise flashed in his expression. Surprise and anger, alternating.

"That tactic worked only once," she whispered the Kree's own words back to him venomously, but breathless.

The metal of Kree blood and traces of his face paint tasted somewhere on the tip of her tongue. The scent of the male was strong, it was overwhelming. She could sense the heat of his breath on her lips and knew the warmth his skin held. So close…and so wrong.

… _So close…so…close…_

There was a tingle of thirst on her lips… A sense of peculiar hunger waking inside her; certain warmth spreading to her extremes.

"Does it?" Ronan murmured as if her words were a challenge and closed in again, gaze determined.

As their lips met once more, Gamora instinctively knew that there was no liquid in the entire galaxy that could satiate the particular type of thirst she suffered from. There was no nourishment able to ease this hunger. Because it was the male who was the source, the cause and the cure – all of those at the same time, and there was nothing in the universe capable of distracting her from the intoxicating pull of his immediacy now.

So she…let go.

She responded, tasted his lips, met his tongue and played with the contrast of textures separating the paint and the skin.

His mass shifted. Her hands were suddenly free and instead of plunging her fingers straight into his eyes she let them fall down on his neck where they found his skin. And as his lips traveled down to devour the skin of her neck, she was already working with the bindings and straps, locations of which she already knew with extreme precision. Ronan shrugged and his breastplate fell on the floor with a lone clank, which she barely registered because she already was fascinated of everything she had found underneath. Her hands met the hard muscle and traveled towards his loincloth…

Somewhere, she heard a seam rip. And another…the Kree's hands explored her body, rough, all over the place and utterly merciless towards her clothing. She responded to the sensation of cool air on her skin by reaching up and wrapping her tights around his hips with a steel grip, drawing heat from his body like a starving animal. His arms slid to support her as his mouth claimed hers again.

Her shoulders met the cool wall behind with force as the male entered. She gasped at the sensation.

And as her brain switched off any thoughts reminiscent of rationality and the male's taste, smell, heat and power and her own pleasure became the sole things existing in her universe, she faintly knew that she was about to lose.

Lose the battle, her own self, everything.

* * *

Whatever Gamora thought or said, it always was a competition. Always had been. And until now, she had ended up being on the losing side.

She was treated as the younger, the less experienced. Without an exception their Father spoke of her sister and refused to equally acknowledge her accomplishments. Even Ronan had been fixated on Gamora - and had that ever resulted as anything beneficial? Quite the contrary, in fact... Nebula was the one who served the Kree with loyalty and her sister had been the one who ran when given the first opportunity. She expected Ronan to acknowledge this now.

Ronan had forbid her from attending Gamora's punishment, but how could she have let it happen without her personally witnessing the proceeding? One of her greatest desires was to be there – to watch her sister being stripped of her life as the final proof that the competition had finally ended and she had emerged as the victor. Gamora was never, never going to be an obstacle on her path again.

An expert on stealth, it was effortless for Nebula to gain access to the central surveillance room of the  _Dark Aster._ It didn't take her long to locate the exact camera she needed from the vast overall listing - the one single device showing a view to the certain location she so deeply wanted to be at. Nebula was slightly delayed; evading a couple of guards had slowed her down on the way. But it did not matter: the ending was the part she wanted to see, anyway.

She activated the screen. As it came to alive and the pulsing light emanated to her eyes, the soft smile quickly died from her lips as her brain processed what was fed to her senses.

She turned around, quietly, keeping the urge of destroying her immediate surroundings at bay. Unlike Gamora, she was able to leave in silence and was going to be light years away before Ronan noticed anything.

They would pay, both of them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this to be a sort of a turning point in the storyline. The way I see these characters function, I wanted it to be a very rough reunion with a lot of tension, mental and physical. Only your feedback will tell me if it worked out the way I intended or not. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Rather follow this on FF.net?  
> [Stand Accused](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10673452/1/Stand-Accused)


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